Aside from being voted “Most Fit Director” in 2006 by Men’s Fitness magazine (a title he reportedly takes very seriously mind you), Eli Roth is known for primarily bringing us gory, splattery horror flicks, most notably Hostel. While not a particularly popular director among critics, or film fans in general, he does hold his own small following that has helped each of his movies turn a profit, albeit with decreasing degrees ever since his zenith with Hostel. Roth is clearly a fan of what he does, and imbues each of his works with what many like to call “dark, childish humour.” Of course his movies are anything but childish, as he usually opts to release the floodgates when it comes to excessive, almost fetishised gore.

This does not occur in Knock Knock. While the colloquial “shits and giggles” laughs are still in abundance, this home invasion thriller holds back the reins when it comes to blood and guts of any sort, instead opting for a more tempered, yet still raunchy approach.

Keanu Reeves plays Evan, an architect, a devoted husband and father of two children. His family has a big car, a big house with a big garden, and live a happy life in a wealthy suburban neighborhood. On Father’s Day, his family take a long trip to the beach, leaving him behind due to his injured shoulder. After a couple hours alone, two young, incredibly attractive girls (Lorenza Izzo and Ana de Armas) arrive at Evan’s doorstep. As they are lost and wet from the rain, he decides to let them stay for a while. Soon however, he has to deal with their seductive advances, and despite his brave attempts to keep them at bay, he eventually succumbs to their charm. The next morning his world is turned upside down as the girls decide to wreak as much havoc in his life as they possibly can.

Do not be turned off by the simplistic plot, for the film has plenty of tricks up its sleeve. Knock Knock succeeds where other “torture” movies fail, in that it is able to strike a balance between despair and hope. Every single time Evan’s pain and humiliation is increased, instead of just wishing everything would be over and his death would come, Roth keeps our attention by never extinguishing that little flame of possibility that somehow, in someway, everything will be alright in the end. Never does Knock Knock feel repetitious because it keeps its script, adding clever little games right, one right after another. The stakes are kept high and in-your-face. Once you get grabbed by Knock Knock, it doesn’t let go, playing you like a rusty violin till the very end.

Of course, being made by Eli Roth, the film’s humour might be called into question by some. “Campy” and “thriller” pairings don’t usually result in something universally acclaimed, especially not when used in context with the aforementioned director. Going from full on homewrecking, to two girls playing piggy-in-the-middle with a man’s inhaler won’t sit well with everyone. One’s enjoyment really depends on how high one’s threshold for Roth’s humour is. Be prepared for plenty of outright batshit crazy, ridiculous, set pieces. I’m intentionally being as vague as possible, for everything past the first night would be a spoiler.

For all the carnage and insanity here, Knock Knock somehow manages to hold onto some pretty interesting innuendos through its 99 minute long run-time. Not only does it make effective use of modern technology and social media, but it questions some societal topics as well. It grapples with topics such as sex, cheating, justice, and gender-specific power. It’s refreshing to see Roth deal with these issues in a reasonable manner, rather than choosing the all too common cynical path.

If “funny” and “tense” are two of three words i’d use to describe the film, “unpolished” would be the third. The fast pace of the writing gets ahead of the directing sometimes, having handfuls of scenes left a bit sloppy and half baked. Keanu Reeves certainly wouldn’t be brought to the floor by a fork to his rock-hard pectorals, and I can think of more than one way to handle a dangerous hostage situation better than by trying to save an art piece over the victim in question. Being a simple story at heart, these scenes can be jarring at times and let the suspense waver too much for the film’s own good. Also, despite working well as comedic, femme-fatale, partners-in-crime, Izzo and de Arma aren’t by any stretch accomplished or experiences actresses. Reeves is pulling his best Nic Cage performance here, complete with amazing one liners such as “CHOCOLATE WITH SPRINKLES?!”, but is also capable of bringing some drama, weight, and crucially, likeability to his character. The girls just don’t have the experience behind them to truly ascend as terrifying villainesses capable of handling the more subtle scenes.

Knock Knock is a silly, silly piece of filmmaking. It is rife with inconsistencies, questionable artistic choices, and odd character decisions. Yet despite for all of its imperfections, it is nice to see a movie that doesn’t take itself too seriously but is still able to keep a viewer at the edge of their seat. It stands out as a black sheep in Roth’s current filmography, but retains all the passion and energy he puts into his work. It isn’t for everyone, but if you’re willing to keep your suspension of disbelief up and are open to some inappropriate jokes, Knock Knock won’t waste your time.

7/10

On paper, Spectre looks like a big effort. Costing reportedly more than 300 million USD, making it the most expensive film in the franchise and the 2nd most expensive movie ever made (tied with Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End). Just looking at the actors involved you can tell this was something special. Daniel Craig is joined by the likes of Lea Seydoux, Christoph Waltz and Ralph Fiennes (the new M) among a heap of others. What this results in is a very stylish return to something less like the previous Craig films, but more along the lines of what preceded him. Less serious and more pure thrill, this is a half polished gamble to remind people of what they liked about the Bond series back before his gritty reimagining.

Like most Bond movies, Spectre starts out with a high-impact, speedy action sequence involving a chase of some sort. While it may not be exactly necessary to progress the plot, it sure gives the director some space to show off his capabilities. Mendes is quite proficient at that, starting off with a long 3-4 unbroken take, escalating into Bond running away from a collapsing building, following up with a tense pursuit through the streets of Mexico City (wonderfully busy with the Day of the Dead parade), and finally escalating into a close-quarters struggle inside of a helicopter. Unfortunately, unlike Skyfall, Spectre doesn’t back itself up with a compelling, or at least interesting storyline. It instead devolves into simply M briefing Bond that someone is doing something which requires him to go somewhere. Except this time it is bogged down even more by a side-plot in which a newly appointed C, head of the Joint Intelligence Service, attempts to create an international absolute surveillance program (sounds so “in” right now, no?) and shut down the 00 section of the now joined MI5 and MI6.

Skyfall isn’t a mediocre movie, it’s just merely slightly above action movie average. Bond purists will most likely have a good time, and enjoy the rather lighthearted tone here, while those attracted to Skyfall’s change in approach, will be mildly disappointed. On the bright side, it is very appealing on the visual and aural side. DP Hoyte van Hoytema makes professional use of lighting and environment to achieve a dim, blackish-gold aesthetic that is very prominent through the film. It looks classy as hell. The score complements this nicely with a thumping orchestral score that hammers itself in during hectic fight scenes.

Something very pleasantly surprising is how Craig plays Bond in the film. He has opted to be a little less grim, and his enthusiasm is infectious here. He brought out the suave, witty, smiling, character here, and it plays well into the tone through the runtime. It also affects his chemistry with the actors around him, making it far easier to buy into dialogue being delivered. In particular, Craig had great chemistry with Bond-girl (nice to have one back) Seydoux, each one playing off of the other very well. The writing itself for their relationship might be a bit lacking, but the actors tried to fill the void where they could. It is not a big surprise that every other actor featured in the film also pulls their weight. Everyone is engaging and fun to watch.

Spectre is very wonky when it comes to it’s script. Aside from the copy-paste plot structure, it underperforms when it comes to characters as well. Seydoux has criminally little progressive dialogue, leaving all the work of her character up to herself. It is not an excuse to commit the sins of previous Bond movies, just because it has become a trope, doesn’t mean it’s right. Being icy and determined aren’t enough to determine a personality or story by themselves. The bigger problem is sadly the villain. For the sake of surprise I won’t mention any names, but the villain, while played very well, is sidelined far too much and the grand reveal doesn’t hold weight due to little context being established. It is meant to tie up the previous movies together, but instead feels last-second. His motive is poorly handled and the alleged mastermind is beaten by a simple deux ex machina rather than some ingenious plan. It undermines much of the presence he has.

A minor disappointment is the lack of fun gadgets missing from Q. They were always an essential part of Bond and give the director tools to use when it comes to the exploding bits. Also, if you were expecting to see much of the advertised Monica Bellucci, you’ll be sad to hear that her on screen time boils down to around 5 minutes and her character is completely irrelevant.

2015 has been a year filled to the brim with not just action movies, but spy movies in general. Kingsman, Furious 7 (it isn’t for far fetched from the theme in style), Mission Impossible 5 and Man from UNCLE are the biggest among these. An issue with this is that each one of these has to present something different from the next to make it worth a trip to the theatre, or just a watch in general. Out of these, nothing tops Furious 7 in terms of pure spectacle, not even Spectre. This sadly diminishes the impact the film has and doesn’t leave you particularly impressed. Mendes does a rather standard job when it comes to the faster scenes and has little new to show. The writing among them is nothing amazing, including Spectre. Well how about the “Bond-ness”? Ironically, Kingsman outdoes Spectre here too. There just isn’t much that will make Spectre a memorable movie after you’ve initially seen it.

While it may sound like I wasn’t fond of Spectre, I in no way implore you shouldn’t go see it if you like the “franchise”. It is Bond through and through, and certainly not the weakest entry by far. Don’t let this stop you from watching the film if you were excited to go see it in the first place.

6/10

In the vein of other, smaller budget, low key science-fiction thrillers that have come before it, Ex Machina uses the power of the size of its concepts to drive it’s story forward and keep the viewer teeming with questions as it does so.

Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson) is a young programmer working for the largest search engine company Bluebook. At the very beginning of the movie he wins an opportunity to spend an entire week at his CEO’s isolated, hyper modernised home. Upon arrival he meets said CEO, Nathan (Oscar Isaac). Nathan is a highly intelligent, blunt, yet somewhat unstable personality with a penchant for heavy drinking. Soon, persuaded Nathan despite having to sign a nondisclosure agreement, Caleb finds out what Nathan has been hiding in his state of the art complex: a stunningly attractive, near-identical-to-a-human, robot named Ava (Alicia Vikander). Caleb was chosen by Nathan to test the scope of her AI and determine through methods such as the Turing test, whether or not she is convincingly human enough. What follows are long sessions with Caleb talking to Ava, and reporting back to Nathan, often discussing philosophical and emotional concepts meanwhile. There turns out to however be animosity between our characters and conflict develops.

Right off the bat it is important to mention how slick Ex Machina looks. Camera angles and framing are quite simplistic, but it oozes hi-tech. Nathan’s pimped home is abundant with glass doors, chrome colour, and minimalist designed furnishings. It’s cold and imposing, but not far off of what we might expect from the near future. Ava herself is crafted with the utmost attention to detail. Metal plates, translucent fabric and what seems to be chainmail creates a robot that looks both beautiful and just pure COOL.

For what is seemingly a very hard-sci-fi flick, Alex Garland’s talent shines here through the more human aspects of the film. Plot progression is not as interesting here as the characters themselves and what they say to each other. All the actors have great chemistry with one another and a unique tone to each conversation. Caleb is entranced with Ava’s existence, while Ava is keen to learn about the outside world. Nathan keeps a brooding, yet friendly eye on Caleb, while the latter is simultaneously astounded by the former’s genius yet fearful of his mental state. Despite Nathan spending months worth of blood, sweat and tears on Ava, she is merely a machine to him, much like how he treats his Japanese housemaid.

The technological hocus pocus behind Ava is certainly well addressed, but much more than the technospeak, the script shines in it’s ability to make us connect with those on screen and both make us ask ourselves questions about the nature of AI and emotions, as well as thinking about ourselves in a similar position as the personalities we are watching.

Exploring what the existence of AI actually means for humans is always a compelling topic. After every session, Nathan questions Caleb on his thoughts about Ava. These exchanges might seem overly obvious, but the difference in personalities both give meaning to what they actually mean. Caleb is a more sentimental guy, opposite to Nathan’s matter-of-fact, almost cynical approach. Topics such as free will, feelings, the reality of love, thought processes versus impulses, role of AI in human everyday lives, as well as how our brains think during a conversation. There is even an amusing segment where Nathan brings up the possibility of Caleb having sex with Ava due to him having designed her to have sensors and a functioning genitalia. Caleb is confusedly retorts by asking Nathan why he would do such a thing. The no-frills response is simply something along the lines of “because sex is fun.”

As the third act comes around however, the film loses its patience and goes down a rather predictable route. Garland loses the plot of what made Ex Machina initially so interesting and instead opts to bring a storm of change. These changes unfortunately go against the shining gem component of the movie and at the same time gives way to some logical inconsistencies and director errors. Also while Vikander and Isaac were both electrifying and incredibly entertaining in they completely opposite characters, Gleeson was rather unimpressive and didn’t show a capability to portray more emotional moments in a touching/disturbing manner while revealing greater complexity. The way in which his character progresses through the story is also puzzling and somewhat incoherent. The actions which the script calls for him to take might have been good ideas in principle, but instead the execution made Caleb less relatable, and frankly less believable. There was more than one moment where I got frustrated seeing the decisions he makes.

It might not be a sci-fi classic, but Garland clearly shows competency with his directorial debut. Ex Machina has many ideas and tricks hidden up its sleeve and isn’t afraid to tell you about them. The direct approach with how it handles its questions suits its tone and context, giving the viewer plenty of food for thought. It is capable of both more quiet character scenes, ponderous moments, unnerving sequences, and even a couple jokes. In particular a hilarious dance scene that strangely doesn’t feel out of place. While it may make some disappointing decisions towards the end and strays from its most potent ingredients, it is undoubtedly a worthy watch for most audiences that don’t mind a slow start.

8/10

 

As 2015 is slowly coming to an end, I’ve taken it upon myself to watch as many movies of the previous months that i may have missed, before the year finishes. This will include both more well known and smaller indie titles.

As it’s poster art suggests, Horsehead is not your typical modern day horror movie. “Enter a psycho-sexual world of nightmares” ,as it’s tagline states, is probably the best one line description of what awaits you if you decide to see it.

Jessica (Lilly-Fleur Pointeaux), has been troubled by horrific dreams ever since she was a little girl, inspiring to take up study of the psychophysiology of dreams in hope of unlocking the secret of what really is plaguing her. One day she receives a phone call from her mother, with whom she maintains a distant, troubled, antagonistic relationship,  informing her that her grandmother has died and inviting her over to the family home for the funeral which will take place the following week. Unfortunately Jessica is stricken with a powerful fever which confines her to her bed for the next few days. She uses her weakened state to try out lucid dreaming, occasionally sniffing ether to get her back to sleep. Most of the movie takes place inside of Jessica’s mind as she explores her subconscious, occasionally popping out every now and then as she interacts with the humans that actually inhabit reality.

Horsehead is very visually inspired by the works of giallo master Daario Argento. It maintains the vivid colours, close ups on eyes, skin, and weird objects, as well as interchanging red and blue hues and disorienting compositions. It is also in typical giallo fashion, incredibly violent to an almost fetishist degree. David Lynch I also to be spotted among the influences, as Horsehead takes note of heavily surrealist tone and images of his works. This is not to say Horsehead doesn’t have a soul of its own. It is not simply a copy and paste work, and the cinematographer Vincent Vieillard-Baron has done a magnificent job of infusing the picture with his own slightly different, yet still highly stylized interpretation. In particular there is special care taken with the lighting, appropriately varying from candles, to dim lamps to god rays where needed. It is partly from here that Horsehead attains its dark, bizarre, yet oddly magnetic atmosphere. Dream-like really is the best compliment one can give it.

As with many other art-house films, Horsehead is very minimal on actual plot. Whatever character development arises is more thanks to the actors themselves than for the script calling for it. Scenes taking place in reality consist merely of Jessica exploring the library or asking around for information surrounding her grandmother’s mysterious past, or dozing in bed. Her dreamworld is a whole other matter. She often wanders through it with little understanding of the events surrounding her. One cannot blame her for this since her subconscious is certainly maze-like. Not only does it have no coherent beginning or end, but is populated by our maniacal titular character. Horsehead, like his name suggests, is an anthropomorphic equine, dressed like a priest and wielding a sharp, bladed staff. If there is an antagonist in this movie, it is certainly him.

Having such poignant dream sequences is fine and dandy, however the film suffers because everything outside of what isn’t real is not as impressive. While much of the film is hidden from the outside world, this doesn’t distract the viewer from the admittedly stagnant segments grounded in reality. Lilly-Fleur Pointeaux does a phenomenal job with physical and emotional acting when Jessica is lost inside of herself, but she and the other actors largely struggle to have any meaningful chemistry between themselves when they interact with one another. On top of that Pointeaux has some slip ups concerning line-delivery and does not give her words enough gravitas without being overly blunt. As such the script in these scenes goes from functional, to draggy as audiences await the thrill of the next fantastical journey instead of having to listen to rather uncompelling characters. Because the dreams themselves are linked to real life events, specifically the family’s past, the ultimate impact of the finale isn’t as it is meant to be. The story doesn’t have to be overly complicated to achieve this goal, but there was a missed opportunity to provide greater context to the dreamworld.

All in all Horsehead is a bold movie that deserves credit for its skilled approach to creating a phantasmagoria nightmare of a film. During its heights, it fills the screens with much splendor and beauty. Edited with precision, alternating rapid pacing in close-ups and slower shots in more spacious environments, it provides for a trippy experience that is easy to be absorbed in. It might be frustrating to have to return to reality every once in awhile, but if one is fond of meandering, heavily visual, somewhat avant garde films, and can stomach some of the more bloody and eccentric imagery, this will provide for a satisfying experience.

8/10

Just as The Visit is being released around the world, so too does this series of analyses come to an end. M Night Shyamalan’s remaining works are his most controversial, spiralling his career out of control and leaving his once esteemed name a joke. Among the four movies that I have not covered yet, is one that I believe should receive the bulk of attention, namely Lady in the Water. The Happening will be saved for a later piece, one that will truly explore the merits of what it means to be a “so-bad-it’s-good” film, and The Last Airbender along with After Earth will be relegated to a single paragraph.

Lady in the Water is Shyamalan’s one and work post-The Sixth Sense that made its productions budget back by only the skin of its teeth. It is also the first one where his cameos instead morphed into a full-on supporting role. By far his most idiosyncratic, it baffled not only audiences and critics, but also its producers with its bizarre premise, plot, characters and writing. An entire book has been written about the production of it. Michael Bamberger of Sports Illustrated followed Shyamalan around and recorded every single one of the director’s thoughts. “The Man Who Heard Voices” is a sneak peek into the mind of M Night Shyamalan and how carried away he became chasing his dream.

Since this is not a review, I won’t be talking about whether Lady in the Water is a “good” or “bad” movie. I will simply say that if I was pressured into it, I’d give it a 7/10. Yes the script goes from silly to ludicrous at times and it has hefty issues with exposition and some tonal inconsistencies, but it has a stand out performance from Paul Giamatti, looks great (courtesy of Christopher Doyle, Hero & In the Mood for Love), has a beautiful score composed by the one and only James Newton Howard, and is incredibly unique in its premise and execution.

Shyamalan is often berated for the fact that he cast himself as the writer who is destined to write the book that will inspire a Midwestern boy to change the world. She says the following:

“He will speak of you and your words, and your book will be the seeds of many of his great thoughts. They will be the seeds of change.“

At first glance it seems like pretentious, self-indulgent dribble, but it is essential to examine the context. Lady in the Water was based on a bedtime story Shyamalan would tell his kids. All the mythological aspects featured in it are not derivative of any preexisting cultural tales. Narf, Scrunt, Tartutic, Great Eatlon and everything else are all straight from his own imagination. Through this and the eternal determination with which Shyamalan worked on Lady in the Water, it is clear this was a strongly personal work of his with a lot of spiritual value.

At its core, Lady in the Water is about telling stories and the importance of doing so. Whether they are written, verbal, or in any other form, they make us who we are, connect us with others and give us a certain purpose and destiny in this world. Much like Signs, it is meant to comfort our existential angst. The very reason Story is named how she is, is to allude to the metaphor inside the film. Story literally comes to the Philadelphia apartment complex to pull all the secluded, strange tenants into a cohesive whole where everyone makes sense in a larger scheme and is part of a project to restore the community. Ironically, Story herself has to divulge her own story to bring context to the situation. Without letting Cleveland know about her and her world (even if she is not allowed to do so), she would never have any hope at solving her own problems. Opening up even that which the world shouldn’t see is essential to achieve purity. Lady in the Water suggests the only way to heal oneself and overcome repression is to tell one’s story.

Cleveland himself as the Healer is destined to bring people closer. He has suffered great losses, so impactful he gained a stutter, but he only has a chance at recovery once he lets Story know of his tragic past that has otherwise remained locked away at the top of his shelf and inside his mind. It is likely that Vick Ran is a close parallel of Shyamalan himself struggling with writer’s block and expressing his great ideas. Only the Madam Narf can bring the lost harmony back into his world. Being able to expel his creative thoughts is coping mechanism and he retains faith that he can allow other people to see some element of themselves in the work he creates. It is no coincidence a number of residents at the Cove are writers. The obviously comic character of the critic (meant to be tongue in cheek) does not survive because he criticizes others stories unfairly without second thought that they might be in some way different from others he has heard.

Story drives Lady in the Water. Being able to communicate only through sign language at first, her tale brings the necessity for translation of some form. Inside her narrative, each resident of the Cove, with their interesting little personalities and traits must find their own place and let Story free. This results in an act of communal storytelling. Story is cured and is able to return to her peaceful world, leaving behind a more cohesive society..

Lastly, there is a strong emphasis on not losing hope. However battered Cleveland is, struggling to deal with psychic trauma, he keeps a small tinge of faith inside himself. He wants to believe everything will embetter itself somehow and doesn’t disregard Story when he meets her.

The Last Airbender and After Earth marked an end to the Shyamalan of yesterday. It was his first venture into big budget, fantasy/sci-fi, CGI-heavy blockbusters (yes even The Happening was largely practical), and it did not bode well for him. High octane action and large scale VFX clashed too much with his rather down-to-earth, sentimental, shy, personal style he developed over the course of the previous years. It didn’t help that he had been under fire from critics since his infamous joke in Lady in the Water. Under pressure, and ever so self-assured, cracks appeared and spread like disease. Inexperience was crystal clear and Shyamalan lost his tempo. There is nothing inherently Shyamalan about The Last Airbender and After Earth. The Happening, while being a substantial departure from form as well, still kept the signature twist ending, troubled in-crisis male protagonists and existential themes. Whether necessity or studio interference caused these changes to arise, it is ultimately irrelevant.

It would be disrespectful to end this story on a sour note. The Visit seems to be doing reasonably better than Shyamalan’s previous films both with audiences (currently 6,9 on Imdb) and with critics (58% approval on RT and 55 on Metacritic) so it is highly likely a sign that his career will turn for the better. It will take a bit of time for The Visit to reach my country of Denmark, but I maintain faith in its quality. Stripping away excess effects and going back to the basics is a promising indicator that Shyamalan is playing to his strengths.

No matter how sour the response over his last two movies has been, Shyamalan is responsible for creating complex storylines and films with great depth and soul. If there is anything he doesn’t lack, it’s humanity and soul. Back in his heyday Shyamalan was a hot topic and got audiences to the cinemas purely on his name alone. The Sixth Sense and Signs were great indicators of how powerful his name was. He didn’t need to make animated kids movies, superhero films or franchise movies to draw in money. Who knows, with his unconventional concepts and riveting thrillers, he could’ve been another Christopher Nolan-like figure in Hollywood. His day may still come.

So far I’ve covered Shyamalan’s technical and thematic side in two different articles consisting of three films. Now it is time for his fourth, what I deem to be his magnum opus: The Village. When it was initially released, many were thoroughly disappointed and downright hated it. Shyamalan was fresh off the back of Signs, which overtime succumbed to criticism, was a massive financial success. It garnered positive reviews from critics (4/4 from Roger Ebert who conversely stated The Village was one of his most hated movies of 2004) and audiences found it quite thrilling and creepy. 2 years later the trailer for The Village drops, depicting it as a dark, scary horror movie about a 19th century village being assailed by enigmatic cloaked monsters. There were enormous expectations for it. Alas the marketing did not do the romance-mystery justice and viewers walked out disappointed. It may have snagged an Oscar nomination for Best Score for James Newton Howard (who has worked with Shyamalan on all his movies up until The Visit, but it was the beginning of Shyamalan’s downfall in the eyes of the public.

The Village was an ambitious project. It included Shyamalan’s biggest cast to date. Alongside Bryce Dallas Howard in her debut role, it starred Joaquin Phoenix, Sigourney Weaver, William Hurt, Adrien Brody and even a young Jesse Eisenberg (before he rose to fame). Aside from James Newton Howard, the crew featured the legendary cinematographer Roger Deakins (12 time Oscar nominee) and the Oscar nominated editor Christopher Tellefsen. The entire settlement where the movie takes place took eleven weeks to build, filming was mired by harsh winter weather and Shyamalan had to rewrite the script after it was stolen a year before the film was released and was published online. After that nefarious event he locked down all news coming out of it and filmed it in extreme levels of secrecy.

The lukewarm reception The Village received hides its rich, thoughtful underbelly laden with symbolism, metaphors, messages, crafted images, and much more. It’s difficult to know where to start, but as always when telling a good story, it’s best to start at the top.

MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD AS USUAL

In Shyamalan’s infamous twist, it is revealed Covington is not actually a contemporary 19th century village, but an artificial creation of the Council of Elders who attempted to escape the horrific experiences they endured back in the urban city centres. To do this they created a natural reserve, patrolled 24/7 by unwitting guards, payed off airlines to divert their routes around it, and started an entire society anew by themselves. Their children were raised without any knowledge of reality and coaxed into believing they actually live in a rural area of the 1800s. To prevent anyone from leaving, the chief Elder Edward Walker takes inspiration from a history book where he read about old legends of monsters stalking nearby woods. Costumes are fashioned and periodically the elders skulk around the edge of the glades to reinforce fear.

 

What makes the twist in The Village so different from those of Shyamalan’s previous movies is that it ultimately barely changes anything for the characters inside the film. Ivy is deliberately allowed to leave and return because her blindness doesn’t allow the truth to be exposed. There are no realisations to be had about what really exists beyond Covington Woods. The inhabitants continue to live in their deluded world, and the Elders continue to reinforce them. Even Ivy, despite the the monsters are just costumes will never know that Noah was actually the one who attacked her and instead will cling to the idea that the legends from which the creatures were derived from are real. After the movie ends, Covington will return to it’s previous state, even without Noah. The Elders have chosen to value everyone’s security over the truth. While it may seem Edward might have softened towards the taboo of outside contact, his motivations were arguably affected by both Ivy’s chance at building a loving relationship  and Alice (Lucius’ mother) not losing her relationship with her son. As Edward states to Mrs.Clack

“… she is led by love. The world moves for love. It kneels before it in awe.”

Love is one of the major themes in The Village. It is found in different forms. We have Kitty’s unrequited love for Lucius, Edward’s confused love for Alice, Ivy’s and Lucius’ blossoming relationship, Noah’s worried and angsty love for Ivy, Ivy and Lucius’ caring love for Noah, Kitty’s sisterly love for Ivy, and the Council’s protective love for the population they are responsible for. It is what drives the film forward and shapes all of the decisions made for the entirety of it’s duration. Even when it might be violent or misguided and present painful outcomes, all deeds and events occurring are a direct result of affection. The irony is that it both binds and threatens to break the society within which it has been born out of. Lies are created, people are hurt, minds are locked inside themselves. On the opposite spectrum it causes people to shelter others and chases away loneliness while creating hopes of a better future. It’s a hard topic to pull off without feeling sappy, but The Village approaches it in a very mature manner.

One can argue that another, more sinister interpretation of the film, is that of post 9/11 allegory on the Iraq War and American society. The Elder’s are are representation of the US government and how it reacted following the 2001 tragedy. Every single Elder has been compelled to their cause by having to go through some type of loss. Corruption, robberies, rape, and suicide were all somehow intertwined when they used to live in the towns.They subsequently enclose the population in a series of questionable reports that are supposed to keep them safe from the terrors of the outside world. As for the terrors, or “Those We Do Not Talk About”, these are a combination of terrorist factions and weapons of mass destruction. They are based on stories, but may or may not be true. Of course this incites people to be vigilant and are more inclined to do the ruler’s bidding. The only way to protect oneself is to return to a time of purity and “national unity” where traditions are upheld to express solidarity. This sets back progress on a number of domestic socio-economic and developmental issues to instead focus on identity and external forces. To add onto that, by the time we learns the monsters are fabricated, society still doesn’t change. The less informed ones (Noah) have become indoctrinated and turn to violence. Ignorance turns Noah into one of the monsters. Unable to understand reality, he becomes a menace to both himself and others. The Village makes a statement about how stories can influence our way of living and falsify the very people we are.

With this in mind, it is a much more cynical movie that at first sight. By reconciling the existence of violence, crime and tragedy in the outside world with the goal of creating a simple and communal society, the Elder’s inadvertently fall victim to deception and hypocrisy. Stories are fabricated even though their original purpose was to enlighten. The Village is much darker than the other Shyamalan films because it supports the idea that one cannot lock evil out. Covington breeds its own tragedies despite attempting to be a safe haven. The movie opens up with the death of a seven year old child. While the cause of death is unknown, it is safe to assume it was preventable by Lucius’ perception of injustice. The Elders have refused to get help from the outside world because it would apparently compromise the collective safety of everyone. Ivy’s blindness was also preventable and her father chose to ignore it. Likewise it is not foolproof in terms of raising respectful and peaceful people. Noah suffers from some type of a mental disorder that impedes his ability to speak properly, perceive information and function as a member of a community. Again it is unknown whether his illness could be cured, but the Elders refuse to accept both that the possibility is true and that he should receive help. According to them the proper solution is to lock him inside a small house in solitude. Noah sadly never overcomes his demons and is left to fester in his inner hell. This drives him to commit murder and assault.

Going by this, Noah is a lonely soul. The very reason he commits his crimes is his loneliness and crude comprehensive skills. He feels for Ivy because she actually plays games with him and doesn’t resort to locking him inside his cell as soon as he misbehaves. She chooses to trust him. When Noah however find out Lucius and Ivy plan to get married, he fears that they will abandon him. Despite him seemingly liking Lucius’ company, he elects to remove him so Ivy can stay his. It also worthy of note that he doesn’t seem to want to kill Ivy when he encounters her in the woods. He rather wants to chase her back to Covington. Regardless of him thinking she will leave forever or save Lucius, the outcome for him is the same.

Noah isn’t the only lonesome being in Covington. Lucius himself, stoic and brave, often spends his days alone in the workshop. He finds it difficult to express his love for Ivy even after it forms its shape inside of him. This leads onto another theme in The Village, namely that of the difficulty of communication. Truth must be let out, yet it cannot. Noah’s speech impediment leaves him fool. When it comes to Alice, Edward is plagued by the ever present

“Sometimes we don’t do things we want to do so that others won’t know we want to do them”

Lucius himself is a victim of this as Ivy explains. It is through this very knowledge of mutual truth that Lucius knows Ivy feels his passion for her. Furthermore, at a similar point in the movie where the viewer finds out the lies surrounding the Walker Reserve, the locked boxes of pain are finally opened and the Elders face their inescapable traumas. Like all of Shyamalan’s good movies, there is a strong element of characters waking up to reality. Of course it is a different type of reality than we expect. Maybe this is the reason a large portion of the scenes are filmed from behind the character’s backs: to show them literally turning their back on the truth. Even during Ivy and Lucius’ conversation on her front porch, the fog in the background, Shyamalan never cuts to a side profile like other directors would. Instead the comes in closer from the same angle.

Past the metaphysical realm of The Village lies even more. I’ll round this analysis off with the visual components presented. First off is Shyamalan’s use of colour. Very clearly is the contrast between yellow or “the safe colour” and red. Yellow here is meant to represent all things good about Covington. The safety and innocence of the unwitting inhabitants. The red is the colour of the aggressor. The monsters wear it and it is painted upon the doors of the houses they’ve visited. Noah is seen with hands full of crimson blood, rocking in a chair. At the beginning of the movie a red figure is reflected in a puddle of water, towards the end the yellow colour is reflected instead in an almost identical shot. This symbolises the return of safety to Covington (Noah is gone). It is also worth noting how the teaching of the Elders have reached so far into the lives of the inhabitants that to the point of paranoia. Everything red is immediately discarded. Berries and flowers must all be removed as soon as possible else it will attract the monsters.

 

Another recurring topic similar is Lucius’ colour. While it is never explicitly stated, there are a number of clues that together make a convincing claim. It is interesting to note that Lucius on screen is always close to some manner of brightness. He is always next to either a source of light or a white-like colour. Even his name is a derivative of the latin lux/lucis or light. Edward tells Ivy she sees “light where there is darkness” referring to not only her hope, but Lucius himself. Ivy is only capable of seeing a few people through a sort of undefined haze. Among them are her father and Lucius. Both are strong characters: brave, strong, and resourceful. When Lucius is dying, Ivy cannot see him because those qualities are at risk.

The Village also draws comparisons with Psycho. Both feature director cameos in some relation with glass (Hitchcock outside a window, Shyamalan reflected). Both give the impression you know who the main character is, and turns that on it’s head when they are stabbed. The real main characters (Norman and Ivy) aren’t revealed until further in the story. Both also have two sets of twists. It also has some distinct Shyamalan trademarks I haven’t talked about. It has dialogue scenes with long-timed shots where we see a only a single character in frame, as well as a home invasion (beginning of Sixth Sense, climax of Unbreakable, aliens in Signs.)

I’d also like to mention a small note to the use of chairs, hands, and slow motion in The Village. There are many, many shots of them simply empty in a void environment. The meaning could extend to a form of grief, rustic life, or to danger (Noah) being on the loose. The only time we know where Noah is, is when he is sitting in a chair. When he is eating, in solitary, or rocking on the porch after stabbing Lucius. As for hands, we get explicit close ups on Ivy’s through the film. These are the tools she uses to sense the world around her, often they are turned palm-down, showing her caution. It is sideways, inviting for new information, when she touches the creature costumes for the first time. It is palm-up when she is reaching out to her beloved Lucius, and clenched firmly when grasping his hand as he leads her to safety. Shyamalan uses slow motion only in moments of danger, slowing down time as characters are in fear and under attack.

The Village teems with deep nooks and crannies under its beautifully lensed exterior. I’d like to round this off by recommending to listen to James Newton Howard’s magnificent score, and to let my readers bear with me as there is only one article left in my series of Shyamalan analyses.

There has arguably not been a director that has been in popular media so defined by “twists” as M Night Shyamalan. After The Sixth Sense and its monumental reveal, everyone expected his following films to have just as grandiose a U-Turn as they saw right then and there. Shyamalan followed suit in Unbreakable, but because of audience expectations, it wasn’t nearly as revered as its predecessor. Even the critics fell to the hype. The following description of Unbreakable on Rotten Tomatoes perfectly encompasses the mass reaction:

“With a weaker ending, Unbreakable is not as a good as The Sixth Sense.”

Shyamalan inadvertently set himself a bar in the eyes of many viewers, one that would ultimately hurt him in the long run. Even before critics ravaged Lady in the Water, almost everyone saw him as the man whose movies are known for their twists. He started gaining notoriety as a one-trick-pony. A director/writer purely defined by how large the plot twist is at the end of his films. Because viewers came to expect the movies to send them a curveball, the very purpose of a twist was under attack. It gave Shyamalan the near impossible task to keep topping himself with ever more exuberant scripts. Both Signs and The Village suffered in this aspect. One because audiences weren’t prepared for a more abstract/layered ending, and the other because audiences found the scale too ridiculous, falling to hypocrisy in terms of their wants.

When looking at Shyamalan, it is imperative to study what his twists actually are, for they come in different forms, but ultimately provide the same purpose. A few of them might not even be traditionally defined as such, since they don’t actually defeat a preconceived notion. Let’s have a look at all the “twists” he has used.

**AS USUAL, MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD**

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The Sixth Sense: Dr. Malcolm Crowe is dead

Unbreakable: Elijah Price has caused all the fatal accidents

Signs: The aliens are weak to water/Graham’s wife’s final words were a premonition

The Village: The monsters are only costumes; The story takes place in modern times

Lady in the Water: Farber’s interpretation is incorrect

The Happening: The wind is working with the plants to attack “negative” people

The Last Airbender & After Earth don’t have twists, but instead have their characters attain incredibly monumental powers.

Shyamalan twists are notable for the fact that they shed a completely new light on the narrative. They not only add extra themes and deepen characters, but allow a different interpretation of the preceding events. They add another layer of purpose, erase the coincidental and accidental. His movies keep a poker face for a huge amount of their duration, baiting audiences in one direction, and then play their hand in an elegant, but epic (for lack of a better word) fashion. While The Sixth Sense has undeniably his most famous use of the technique, I will instead be exploring how Signs showcases it and why it works. Both use it in quite different ways, but both also tie into the general thematics of a Shyamalan motion picture.

Signs contains possibly the most notorious twist of his movies. While initially well received, it has since come under vicious attack for being allegedly implausible, ridiculous, stupid etc. Arguably these accusations have little to no basis, it is however understandable why crowds might think this way, for it requires a bit of extra thought. There are two schools of thought on the subject. One claims the aliens themselves are metaphorical, while the other defends the literal ending.

Let’s start with the first. This theory states the aliens don’t actually exist, and instead are demons. The central theme is a priest struggling with belief/faith, and the ultimate redemption. This ties in nicely with the subjective interpretation of the aliens throughout the film, the multitude of Christian symbology, the alien behaviour, and the overall inner struggle of Graham.

I’m not going to cover the entire theory, so instead I’ll leave you with its origin:

https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/ubaqq/what_fan_theories_have_blown_your_mind_with_their/c4ubvmy

The second combats all of the alleged plot holes. Because we know so little about the aliens (hence the demon theory), there are a multitude of plausible explanations for the weakness to water, their inability to get through doors, them “invading” a planet composed largely of water etc. They might be desperate creatures for all intents and purposes; searching for resources in the barren void that is space. Earth might very well be their last chance to prolong their survival. Maybe the aliens might be purely expendable scouts, sent by their overlords to do their dirty work. Notice also the aliens purposefully avoid water sources: they aren’t stupid. In the famous scene where we see an alien on television at a birthday party in Mexico, it’s quite clear from their posture and movement that they are afraid. The creature crouches behind a bush, and runs only after it’s somewhat convinced it’s safe. Getting through a pantry door that is rather well blocked would certainly take some time. We know nothing about their physical prowess.

Both are not only possible, but also fit nicely into the move. The twist’s power resides in how it hammers home the ideas presented throughout the film. Are we on a set path? Why do we behave like we do? How can we fight something we know nothing about? What does victory mean for us? Are our struggles interconnected? What happens when we stand together? While these may be rather simplistic questions, the plot requires such an audacious idea as the “holy water” to give some sense of incredibility. Upon the second watch, we can see our characters and the events in a different light.

Signs is, either way at the end of the day, not really about aliens/demons, but the humanity surrounding the occurrences. It defines all the common characteristics of a Shyamalan script. First of all we have our trademark protagonist: broken, facing family issues, combating the mundanity of life in a lifeless world, fighting tragedy, and having ever diminishing hope of anything good happening. These characters continue over the course of the narrative slowly restoring their shattered beliefs, finding their place in a cold, harsh world. We see this anti-cynicism in almost every film he has made.

I feel bad having to sacrifice so much space for this quote, but it perfectly embodies the Shyamalan character arcs down to a point.

“People break down into two groups. When they experience something lucky, group number one sees it as more than luck, more than coincidence. They see it as a sign, evidence, that there is someone up there, watching out for them. Group number two sees it as just pure luck. Just a happy turn of chance. I’m sure the people in group number two are looking at those fourteen lights in a very suspicious way. For them, the situation is a fifty-fifty. Could be bad, could be good. But deep down, they feel that whatever happens, they’re on their own. And that fills them with fear. Yeah, there are those people. But there’s a whole lot of people in group number one. When they see those fourteen lights, they’re looking at a miracle. And deep down, they feel that whatever’s going to happen, there will be someone there to help them. And that fills them with hope. See what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way: Is it possible that there are no coincidences?”

In Signs there are no coincidences. It offers to everyone the possibility that all things in life have a purpose preordained by a higher spiritual power. It is arguably Shyamalan’s most Christian film. Our protagonist Graham Hess’ wife was killed a few years earlier in a car crash caused by his neighbour Ray (played by Shyamalan). This has caused a reverberation throughout the entire story. Graham has subsequently rejected his faith, alienated his kids, and come to a state of the aforementioned cynicism. He refuses to “see”. It is only by going back to the tragic event of that one night that he is able to break through his own barriers. Acceptance is what he was missing. Acceptance of destiny. It was only through his wife’s death he was able to become a better person. It was only through his wife’s death the family was able to fend off the ensuing threat. Morgan’s asthma turns out to save his life, Bo’s neurotic behaviour surrounding water reveals the intruder’s weakness, and Merrill picking up his baseball bat again defeats the alien. This theme of purpose runs bone deep in Signs. Even Merrill reciting how he wanted to kiss a girl, but had to spit his gum out first, resulting him in avoiding the incoming torrent of vomit.

The message is clear: embrace who you are, accept the events surrounding you, and keep improving yourself for your life is not without meaning. One can only achieve redemption through faith. Shyamalan intended this to be an uplifting work. Even if one is not religious or doesn’t believe in destiny, one can still believe in the beauty of the world and its framework.

Next week I will be looking at The Village, my favourite of Shyamalan’s movies. The twists contained in it are just as great as the final one in The Sixth Sense, and it is essential how they impact the grand scheme of things.

 

M Night Shyamalan is somewhat of a phenomenon in the film community. Critically, his career peaked at its inception, and is commonly said to have declined ever since. When The Sixth Sense debuted in 1999, it received a total of six Oscar nominations, two of those for Shyamalan himself. It has been featured on many Best-Of lists and is widely considered a masterpiece. Seven years later was when he became a common sight at the Razzies. A total of 4 movies have received nominations from the award show, one of which even snagged Worst Picture (The Last Airbender). He is a perplexing filmmaker. Someone who once had enormous queues waiting outside cinemas to see a movie just because his name was on it, now has people weary of every movie he is attached to. The colloquial term “M Night Shat-upon” was born somewhere in his career, and in preparation of his new movie The Visit, I intend to explore not only his personal style, but also whether his fame/hatred are deserved.

 

FYI: I’ll be focusing on movies that I deem relevant to his career and ones that are directed as well as written by him. This disqualifies Praying With Anger, Wide Awake, as well as Devil.

 

WARNING: MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD!

 

The Sixth Sense is often argued to be Shyamalan’s apex. Whether or not it is the case or not, it is his first movie where his personal flair was born. All things we associate with Shyamalan’s strengths are in there. It is a cultural phenomenon that is endlessly quoted and parodied across modern media (Imdb lists a total of 255 reference & spoofs). While I don’t consider it to be his best movie (something I’ll reveal further down the line) one cannot deny that when the then-29 year old Shyamalan created it, there was cause to believe he was a rising star. I’ll be dividing my analysis into parts based on what movies I believe together are a good portrayal of Shyamalan’s mindset. In this issue, The Sixth Sense will be joined by Unbreakable. Together they form the technical basis of his flicks.

Shyamalan is a specific breed of director. Like any great auteur, he has his trademarks that shape who he is and how he shoots. From a visual standpoint, he prefers simplicity, with only a few odd quirks. He is a fan of either zoomed-in dual shots with faces close to the centre of the frame, or long takes, but not the kind that follow characters through windy paths. In fact, there is very little movement in SS and UB. Conversations form the majority of what is actually going on. You could listen to almost all of UB without actually looking at the screen and still have a strong grip on the movie. This is what makes it an uncommon sight in the superhero genre: it’s basically an audiobook. Here we glean the first important element of Shyamalan: he is a storyteller by dialogue. He lets his characters play out the script first and foremost.

This of course works fabulously. Both SS and UB are heralded by standout performances. Bruce Willis, Haley Joel Osment (the best child performance in a movie I’ve ever seen) and Samuel L Jackson are all actors that can bring their own souls into the people they play and tap into their respective alternate worlds. Stories are heralded by the chemistry and exchanges between and inside the characters more so than anything else. Whatever background there is to the events at hand, seeing dead people or superpowers, they serve more as metaphors for the down-to-earth humanity present than as motors. I’ll preserve the topic of themes for the next issue but the point is Shyamalan works best when his movies trust the audience pay attention and notice how each and every line and thought subtly changes the tone or expression of the actors. No fast cuts here. Just a picture with changing faces.

When he does of course change what is on screen, he likes to use a couple tools to assist him. At the beginning of The Sixth Sense, the camera’s view is obscured by a wine shelf as it follows Anna Crowe taking her pick. In Unbreakable we instead are looking at David Dunn talking up Kelly on a train, again the camera being placed behind the seats in front of them, slowly panning left and right depending on who is talking. At the end of UB, when Dunn is tracking down a home invader, a curtain billows in and out of focus, momentarily obscuring him for a second at a time as he gets closer. This ties in quite nicely with close-ups that Shyamalan likes to use. In these moments he removes most object out of the picture to instead focus on single one that gives us vital information pertaining to a situations. His intentions become even more relevant however when he uses colour.

When viewing a Shyamalan movie, it is imperative to notice what colours are in frame. Since the variety of hues in his shots are almost always very basic, it isn’t hard to do so. SS and UB are the best choice to use when explaining these motifs. Red is the most distinctive. When it appears we know what we are looking at is important and will play a large role. In SS it is specifically a function to show places where the world of the living and the dead has crossed over in some manner, Whether it be at the end of a movie like the red door knob in SS that ties into Malcolm being unable to open the door due to being dead, or Cole’s sweater, or the door knob, or the balloon, or the vast amount of other objects, Shyamalan paid a huge attention to detail, making sure sets only had the colour where needed.

UB has a slightly different focus. Keeping in line with the comic-book aesthetic, Shyamalan has not only emphasised Mr Glass with his own glass cane and common reflections in various sheets of glass, but has given him and David Dunn their own colour scheme. Purple and Green respectively. Clothes, bedsheets, wallpapers and personal items all illustrate this. Hero and Villain are both foreshadowed in this manner. Evildoers on the other hand have orange and red clothes that make them stand out to us in the dreary grey world.

Lastly it wouldn’t be a Shyamalan analysis without some mention of a twist. I am gonna leave that and the spiritual aspects of his work till next time. He might have a very simple style, but there is plenty of strength and depth to it.